


She

by broken_boiz_in_love



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam Parrish Loves Ronan Lynch, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, F/M, Gen, M/M, Minor Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent, Minor Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish, Robert Parrish Is His Own Warning, Robert Parrish's A+ Parenting, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broken_boiz_in_love/pseuds/broken_boiz_in_love
Summary: She didn't have a name. Or maybe she once did. Either way, it was long forgotten.A character study of Adam Parrish's mother, who was never given a name. TW.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 6
Kudos: 68





	She

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ: Hello lovelies! Hope everyone is staying safe and happy. "She" came to me the moment I realized Adam Parrish's mother is the only character in TRC with multiple mentions that was never given a name. I think Maggie did this with the purpose to signify her empty and the dehumanized life in a vicious cycle of abuse. This is more of a character study than a story, but it was still very challenging to write. I did NOT enjoy creating this at all. It's probably the heaviest thing I've ever written and I felt a little sick at times, but still felt compelled to finish it. Again, THIS IS A CHARACTER STUDY. It is told from the POV of an abused, miserable woman who is herself a victim and I wrote it all from her prospective. THAT BEING SAID, I AM NOT IN ANY WAY DEFENDING HER BEHAVIOR OR EXCUSING IT. JUST BECAUSE ADAM'S MOTHER WAS HERSELF A VICTIM OF ABUSE DOES NOT MEAN SHE SHOULD HAVE STOOD ASIDE WHILE ROBERT TREATED ADAM THE WAY HE DID.
> 
> With that out of the way, I'm also going to issue a MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING: SEXUAL ABUSE, CHILD ABUSE, DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, MENTION OF SUICIDE ATTEMPT, POVERTY, ALCOHOLISM, HOMOPHOBIA.

_"She"_

* * *

She didn't have a name.

Or maybe she did. Once upon a time.

Either way, no one had called her by it in quite some time. And when a name goes unused for so long by the one's loved ones, they tend to forget it all together. It had been a long time since anyone had called her by her first name. Long enough ago for her to have forgotten it herself.

She was simply known as "Mrs. Parrish." Or, even more basically, "Parrish.'' Or "Robert's bitch wife."

Or "Mother."

She preferred "Mrs. Parrish" to the alternatives. It was neutral, brisk, and unfeeling. Just the way she liked things. Being called "Parrish" sapped the last ounce of dignity she felt she possessed. It made her feel like a boy. It was the name of the boy who called her mother, or what his friends called him anyway. "Robert's bitch wife" was what her husband's sleazy friends referred to her as. She'd gotten used to it long since they's first hooked up in high-school, starry-eyed dreamers who thought life might actually have a purpose after all. Ha, she laughed silently to herself at the thought. What fools they had been.

_Mother._

There was one singular person on earth who called her "Mother.''

Her boy.

His name was Adam.

* * *

She vividly remembered when her and Robert's relationship turned sour. Right after they'd graduated from high-school, right after they'd started working their minimum-wage jobs, right after they'd moved into their very own double-wide trailer. She had thought back then, she had _known,_ that Robert loved her. Didn't he? But then things became rough in bed. Robert handled her like rag doll, stopping only when he himself felt like it. No matter how exhausted she became, no matter how much she cried, _she begged,_ he would go down on her again and again and again and again until she bled until her legs would shake until she couldn't walk straight in the morning until her whole body ached until she just went limp underneath him too tired to fight too tired to give a fuck too tired too tired

and then he would stop.

Then he would roll off and lie beside her, panting like dog. Her body was on fire. She wanted to scream until her lungs burst, but her tears ran silently down her cheeks. Robert would turn towards her then, wrap an arm around her bare hips, pull her close. She suppressed a shutter as Robert's hot breath touched her neck. Then he would call her beautiful, say she was the only girl worth his time, say she was a goddess naked, an empress in bed. He would stroke her hair and she would believe the words he spoke. _It's supposed to be this way,_ she convinced herself. _It's supposed to hurt. There is no pleasure, after all, without pain._

One morning when she stumbled out of bed her shaky legs barely got her to the bathroom in time. Robert came up behind her as she heaved into the toilet bowl. She looked up at him, cowering on her knees, and her stomach continued to churn. Robert crouched down beside her and swept her damp hair out of her face. He could be gentle, she knew. He could be. He just chose not to be.

She dismissed the waves of nausea as food poisoning. She must have had some bad chowder, she convinced Robert, it must have been canned already expired. Food poisoning. That was all.

The sickness did not go away. Every morning, she would empty the contents of her stomach into the cracked toilet in the double-wide. Every morning, for nearly two months. Eventually, Robert just started to sleep through it. It had to be a bug, she told him. It would pass.

But she knew this was no bug. With trembling hands, she counted off how many weeks it had been since her last period. Seven. It had been seven weeks.

Another two weeks passed. During this time, she tried telling herself she kept missing her period because she hadn't been able to keep anything down before noon. She wasn't eating enough, that was it. But deep down. She knew.

* * *

Trembling hands, erratic heartbeat. She sat on the toilet and stared at the worthless piece of plastic in her hands. No, no. _No._ The tears came and went. She didn't move. When she heard Robert slamming the door shut, she still wouldn't budge. She didn't even look up as he pushed the bathroom door open. He didn't bother knocking.

He gruffly demanded what she was holding. She wordlessly handed him the pregnancy test. Robert squinted at it, as if he didn't quite believe what he was seeing. Then he threw it to the floor and cursed the name of God. Then he stormed out and left her alone.

He didn't come back until late. She hadn't fallen asleep yet. She was laying in bed, eyes closed, wishing for this miserable life to end. Robert collapsed in bed beside her, fully clothed. He smelled of whiskey. She tensed, waiting for him to tear her nightie off and fuck her senseless. But he didn't. He didn't do a thing.

The next day she went to the doctors. They confirmed her worst nightmare. She told Robert it was true, the test was not false. He just grunted and took another swig out of a bottle. He warned her they were going to have to be more careful in the future. She was a bit puzzled. Did Robert want this? Surely not. She had expected him to demand they terminate. But no. They kept the baby. She was never sure why they did it.

The morning sickness stopped after another month or so. She went to her appointments. Robert drank. He never once accompanied her to the doctor's.

There was a day when they went to court and got married. It was one of the worst days of her life.

* * *

On the morning of July 3, she was awakened by a horrible pain. At first she thought she was dying. Then she realized what was really happening. She woke up Robert. He drove her to the hospital. It was still dark when they arrived, the sun not yet having gathered the strength to rise. She was taken to the delivery room on a gurney, Robert strolling behind her, as if she wasn't sobbing in pain from the horrible thing he'd injected into her.

Giving birth was undeniably the most painful experience of her life. Sex was bad enough, but nothing could have ever prepared her for the immense pressure on her cervix. She felt like she was ripping in two. How did almost every woman in history do this? She vowed she'd never do it again. Robert be damned, if he got her pregnant again she would kill the little wretch herself if she had to.

A coworker had told her that labor pains were manageable, and it was all worth it in the end. She could just get an epidural, and, _voilà!_ Giving birth is a wonderful experience.

She disagreed.

The doctors told her the baby was coming too fast. It was too late for an epidural by the time they reached the hospital. So, in horrible agony, she pushed thirteen fucking times —

And she had a son.

Robert narrowed his eyes at the slimy, naked little thing. She wept in relief that it was all over.

_"Little"_ was a bit of an understatement. The baby was tiny. As her doctor placed the mewling bundle in her weary arms, he informed her that her son was nineteen inches long; five pounds, three ounces. Robert sniffed.

She gazed at her baby boy. He blinked back at her with big blue eyes. He had stopped crying now and was watching her, waiting for a reaction. A nurse asked what his name was. She looked at Robert, who shrugged like, _Your brat, you name him._

She called the child Adam.

* * *

Adam grew up shy, quiet. He was an observer. He didn't speak much. Maybe it was because usually when he did speak, Robert snapped at him to shut his goddamn mouth the fuck up for once.

The first time Robert hit Adam, she screamed. Then Robert wheeled around and smacked her a good one in the silenced her for good. Never again would she dare oppose him when he was beating on their son.

Adam was six years old the first time Robert hit him.

* * *

Adam grew fast. He was consistently an average height for his age. He was consistently at the bottom of the weight chart; a skinny little runt from the hood. It wasn't her fault though. She fed him most days. The days she didn't . . . well, what was the saying? "Hunger sharpens the wit"?

Her boy's wit was definitely sharp. By the age of ten, Adam had learned to make himself scarce. He spent all his time when not at school, away from the double-wide. Adam never told her where he went and she never asked. He came home at night, when he got too tired or too hungry to stay out any longer. She didn't blame him for hiding. She would be scared of Robert too. But she wasn't. He loved her, didn't he? He had to have, because he'd stayed. All those years, he'd put up with the son he despised because he _loved her._ She reminded herself of that when he turned his wrath towards her. When she covered the bruises the next day, she told herself it was not her Robert had been angry with. It was Adam. It was always Adam. Robert would never have hurt her if it hadn't been for that little brat. Maybe that was why she didn't mind Adam being gone so often. She was his mother; she _wanted_ to love him. But she couldn't. Robert had made sure of that.

The sex was good though. After she'd gotten pregnant, Robert had decided it was time to be tone it down a bit. He fucked her less often now and not as rough as before. It became enjoyable again, the way it had been when they were teenagers, before she moved in with him all those years ago.

Time dragged on. She worked. Robert worked. They fucked. Adam grew up fast. He would stay awake late in the night, finishing homework, perfecting every assignment. Robert drank. He told his son over and over that school was pointless. Adam said he understood Robert's reasoning, but he respectfully disagreed. Robert backhanded him for that one. Adam never again verbally disagreed with his father. She knew he disagreed with everything Robert said, but Adam always kept a neutral face and nodded. Anything else would get him a beating.

Adam began working when he was fourteen. He started attending public high-school the fall after he turned fifteen. One day he came home and said he'd started working another two jobs. Robert had not taken a single moment to be impressed that a fifteen year old boy was working three jobs. He had immediately demanded _why._ Why was Adam busting his ass? What was the point. _Aglionby,_ Adam told them. The word sent a shiver of disgust down her spine. Aglionby Academy, really, Adam? Aglionby was the private boys' school in Henrietta. It had a student body of 100% rich little bastards. Apparently, Adam had been accepted with some big scholarship, blah, blah, blah, but he still had to pay partial tuition because reasons, et cetera, and that was why he was working another two jobs. He was going to pay for it all himself.

She noticed Adam was not asking permission. He was just calmly informing them of his future whereabouts. Robert threw back his head and laughed. He told Adam he would never make it, no, certainly not. White trash like him would never survive a place like _Aglionby,_ for God's sake! He would be eaten alive, What did he have to offer anyway? He was being set up to fail, lamb to the slaughter.

Robert ridiculed his son until he got bored, then demanded Adam grab him a beer from the fridge. Adam listened to his father try to tear him down in silence. His expression was neutral. He got him the beer he'd asked for. Then he turned to her. _Mother?_ His blue eyes were hopeful. _Support me,_ they silently pleaded. _Love me. God, Mother, please love me._

She shrugged. Robert was right. Adam wouldn't last more than two weeks at Aglionby Academy.

But he did. He lasted two weeks. He lasted two months. He kept on lasting. Adam was never home anymore. Not that he'd ever been home often, not that he'd ever really called the double-wide home. He tended to be ungrateful about that sort of thing. But she noticed Adam's absence much more frequently now. He was either at school or work. Or maybe somewhere else? She wasn't sure. Did he have friends?

Yes. Yes, Adam had friends. Rich bastards. Three of them. All as bright and shiny as new money. Probably smelled like new money too. She never saw them up close, only when they dropped Adam off in their shiny sports cars. Adam didn't talk about them. Occasionally, they would call him on the phone. They made up excuses for Adam missing school because Robert had beaten him to a pulp the night before. She caught only the boys' names: Gansey, Ronan, Noah. Who the hell named their kid Gansey? Jesus Christ.

* * *

Twice Robert caught Adam sneaking out in the middle of the night. The first time Adam had tears in his eyes, which shocked her. She hadn't seen Adam cry once in the last decade. That may have been because when she thought he was going to cry, she deliberately turned her back on him. Adam tried explaining to Robert that something had happened to one of his friends — Ronan, she thought she heard him say, was in the hospital. Gansey had called Adam in a panic, apparently. She was curious by this turn of events, but not surprised. Gansey seemed to call Adam about Ronan fairly often. Ronan must have been a problem child, she decided. Robert didn't let Adam go to the hospital that night. But he did beat him bloody.

The second time Adam got caught trying to sneak out, it was also because of Ronan. Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with him? This time Gansey had called saying Ronan was missing. Adam tried explaining to Robert that the last time this had happened Ronan tried to kill himself. _Oh,_ she thought. That explained it.

Robert took a swing at his cheek.

She thought that after these two disasters, Adam wouldn't dare ever mention this Ronan boy again. And he didn't. But he _did_ bring Ronan home with him one night. Well, to be clear, Ronan brought Adam home. He drove him back late one evening. It had been a bad day at the double-wide. She had been avoiding her husband, who had been drinking pretty much non-stop since he got home from work. He was already looking for a fight when Adam returned home late. She didn't watch the events play out. She tried to block from her consciousness the sounds of Robert verbally berating him. She tried to ignore the _thud_ of her son's body hitting the ground. She only perked up when she heard an unfamiliar voice. And then Robert's surprised yelp. _Adam never fought back._ She raced to the window.

Headlights illuminated the scene before her. Her husband was rolling around on the ground, engaged in a fight with a boy she had never seen before. She couldn't get a good view of the boy. She made out a shaved head and got a glimpse of inked skin on his neck. The boy was smaller than Robert, but he clearly had been taught to fight. He was holding his own remarkably well. Too well, she realized. He might hurt Robert. She raced to the door, throwing it open, and started shrieking for them to stop.

They did not stop.

She was vaguely aware of Adam lying on the ground, in obvious pain. Part of her wanted to run to him, to help him up, to kiss his hurts better, but she didn't. She had never been that kind of mother. She had never held him and told him it would be alright. This was the first moment she regretted not having ever done so.

One of the neighbors called the cops. It was strange, she thought as the trailer park was bathed in red and blue lights, that the neighbors were only now concerned because someone had fought back against Robert. They turned a blind eye every other night Robert beat the shit out of his own kid.

Adam did something that night that surprised her more than anything ever had: he got up off the ground, and standing on shaking legs, pressed charges against Robert Parrish. She was so shocked, she didn't do a thing. Robert, of course, denied, denied, denied. But this time, there was a witness. Ronan. The boy that had driven Adam home had seen the whole thing and launched himself at Robert, in furious defense of Adam. The police briefly questioned him. Then they questioned her. She was unprepared, and stammered a couple useless things. Adam was taken to the hospital. Robert was arrested.

After a trial in court, Robert was let off with a restraining order and a fine.

* * *

They didn't speak Adam's name for months. He'd moved out the night of Robert's arrest. She hadn't seen him since the trial. They hadn't exchanged a word. She almost forgot his name, as she had forgotten her own. She thought of him often though. She hoped he was happy. She realized one day that he must have graduated from that horrid school. Some nights, she lay awake, staring at the ceiling, Robert snoring beside her, and wondered where he might be.

Then one day, he came home. He pulled in front of the double-wide in a sleek black car. The same one Ronan had driven the day Robert was arrested. She watched as Adam walked up the front stairs, stood in the threshold, came in. He spoke with Robert. She greeted him tightly, for it was all she knew how to do. Adam mentioned his graduation. He said he's missed her presence there. It was probably bullshit, but she just said she hadn't felt welcome, which was true. But she also hadn't wanted to go. Adam and Robert had a mostly civil conversation. She tried to smother her shock as Adam calmly informed Robert he was deaf in one ear because of his father's abuse. She tried not to vomit as she told Adam to call as he was leaving. He said he would.

They both knew if he ever did, she wouldn't answer.

* * *

She saw him once more before he left Henrietta for college. She was picking up some groceries and she saw him and his friends at the store. He didn't see her, but that was alright. He looked happier than she'd ever seen him. He was laughing at something the girl had said. There were three boys there too. Funny, she thought. She could have sworn Adam was friends with only two Aglionby boys . . . One of them had square shoulders and glasses and had his arm around the girl, who was a good head shorter than him. The second boy was Asian and had spiky black hair, and appeared to be engaged in an animated conversation with the other boy and girl. The third boy was Ronan. He and Adam were standing a little ways away from the other three. It was the first time she was able to get a good look at the boy who had been so enthralled in her son's life. He was tall and had pale skin and eyes. His head was shaved, like she had noticed previously, and when he turned to whisper something in Adam's ear, she caught sight of the tattoo snaking down his neck under his shirt. Adam smiled at whatever it was Ronan said. She had seen Adam smile on rare occasion, but never like that. She was puzzled for a moment. Then she caught sight of the boys' fingers laced together. The way Adam smiled suddenly made sense to her. A lot of things did.

_Ronan,_ she thought. Okay. Her son and . . . another woman's son. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She knew how Robert would feel about it. But he didn't have to know. For once, she didn't feel obligated to tell him anything. She was going to walk out of this store. Adam was not going to ever know she'd seen him. Neither was Robert.

She paused before leaving. Her eyes lingered on the way Ronan brushed his thumb over Adam's cheek. The same cheek that had once been bruised by her husband. Now, here was someone touching that very spot with such extreme gentleness, her breath caught in her throat. She tried to remember back when she and Robert were younger. Had he ever touched her like that? She knew he hadn't.

_Please, Ronan. Please love my son. Love him the way I never could._

She turned and left.

* * *

She did love Adam. She always had — in her own way, that is. She watched him flourish and grow from a distance. She never got too close. There was a part of her that was certainly regretful of this aspect. She wished she could have been a better mother. But not she was content with knowing Adam was free. He was free of the vicious cycle of poverty, free of his father's crushing grip on his soul. And it wasn't because of his friends, although she knew they had constantly supported him like she never had. Adam was able to break free because of his own damn hard work. He had worked his way out of hell. She was silently proud of him for it.

Adam was loved. He had friends who would do anything for him. He had a boyfriend who loved him more than anything, and would support him and take care of him. She had never had either of those things. But it was alright. She didn't need to be loved.

What was the point?

After all, she didn't even remember her own name.


End file.
